


Sound & Color

by Shadowparade



Category: Mr. Robot (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-20
Updated: 2019-08-21
Packaged: 2020-09-06 02:34:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20283964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shadowparade/pseuds/Shadowparade
Summary: Elliot wakes up after being shot, and finds that things aren't quite as he remembers - but should his memory really be trusted?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This diverges from canon at the end of S2E12.  
This is my slice of life au, otherwise known as "food service is pain and suffering" but tyrelliot is good.  
First chapter is short, other chapters will be longer and include song suggestions for your listening pleasure!

_ “Sorry, kiddo. _

_ I couldn’t let anyone stop this - including us.” _

* * *

What happened?

The last thing he could remember was… Tyrell. Tyrell, who wasn’t really there, because Tyrell was dead, because he’d killed him. Yet he could distinctly remember staring across the dimly-lit warehouse at the disheveled former executive, arguing about stage two, which was supposed to have been shut down already. None of it made a bit of sense. Mr. Robot had been there too, shouting about something or other as he tended to do, and then… he disappeared, along with everything else in Elliot’s fading vision. That was where it stopped, where everything switched off and left far too big a gap in his consciousness.

Elliot inhaled deeply, hazy green eyes flicking open to take in the familiar darkness that filled the apartment. A few moments were spent in silent contemplation as he blinked into consciousness, making every attempt to recall how the hell he’d gotten back to his apartment when he’d just been -

Fuck, he’d been shot, hadn’t he? How could that slip his mind?

Hands darted to his midsection as he forced himself to sit up, and his confusion only grew when his fingers found a lack of injury. Throwing the sheets off to the side, he examined his abdomen with wide eyes and quickened breaths. No, that wasn’t right. Tyrell had shot him, he remembered now, that hadn’t been an illusion - but where the fuck did the wound go, if it hadn’t been a lie?

_ Please tell me you saw him too. _

**“...Elliot?”**

A sleepy voice came from the couch, startling Elliot from his thoughts and dragging his gaze away from his perfectly-intact midsection.

**“Darlene? What are you doing here?”**

_ What the fuck is going on? Did you see her come in? _

More noise from the other side of the apartment, this time a shuffling sound as his sister rolled off the couch and made her way through the darkness, plopping down at the foot of his mattress. Elliot reached over, turning on the lamp to the side of the bed. Darlene still looked half-asleep, a hand coming up to rub at her eyes as she spoke.

**“You told me I could stay over, dumbass,” ** she started, her tone light, **“you good? You were mumbling.”**

**“Uh - yeah. I’m fine.”**

_ I don’t think I’m fine. _

A sigh from Darlene, but it was exaggerated in its intensity - she wasn’t really bothered, Elliot knew. What he didn’t know, however, was why or how she got here. How long had it been since he last saw Tyrell, and what the fuck had happened in the time that’d escaped him? He felt the weight of the mattress shift beneath him as Darlene started to get up, but he caught her wrist.

**“What… what happened? Where’s Tyrell?”**

He couldn’t gather any conclusions from her expression; she looked confused, concerned even, but somehow void of recognition.

**“What are you talking about, Elliot? Are you sure you’re okay?”**

He could only blink over at her, blink away his thoughts, blink because he had no idea what else to do. He swallowed the rising lump in his throat.

**“...Yeah. Sorry,”** he let go of her wrist, but even after standing she lingered at the edge of the bed, her eyes fixed on Elliot.

**“Right, well. At least ** ** _try _ ** **to get some sleep, ‘kay? Doubt your boss will be too happy about you sleeping in.”**

**“My boss?”**

That was new.

Darlene was quiet for a second, staring at her brother as if waiting for him to continue - then she opted to just laugh, passing it off as some attempt at a joke. Elliot had never been the best with jokes anyway; she couldn’t blame him for trying.

**“Go to sleep, weirdo.”**

_ I’m fucked, aren’t I. _

_ This has to be another of Mr. Robot’s illusions. Tyrell shot me and now I’m probably lying in a hospital bed. Fuck. Did you see what happened? No, it doesn’t matter - you wouldn’t tell me if you did. _

Darlene was back on the couch, likely dead asleep already with the way she’d so willingly hit the cushions. She’d looked exhausted, of that he could be sure, but that didn’t matter right now. He grabbed for his phone, snatching it off of the bedside table to take a look at the time. Instead he was caught by a notification, a text received five hours ago.

**_ Angela_** **_10:34 P.M._**

_ Don’t forget we’re getting the new POS tomorrow! Don’t be late. See you in the morning. _

Fuck if that made any sense, especially coming from Angela. An exasperated sigh was all he could manage in the moment, and considering how overwhelmingly confusing the entire situation was that he found himself in, he set the phone back on the table and settled back into the sheets. He’d deal with it in a few hours anyway, and after the day and night he’d had (had it all been today, or had it been days since he saw Tyrell?), he deserved an hour or two of rest.


	2. Chapter 2

Elliot awoke to the sound of cabinets closing and the smell of coffee brewing. It wasn’t the worst way to wake up, considering his other option had been the alarm set to go off in ten more minutes - upon opening his eyes and looking out into the kitchen, he was met with the sight of his sister, going about her morning routine seemingly without a care in the world… why did that matter, again?

_ Something was bothering me last night - shit, I can’t remember what. Why does it feel weird that Darlene is relaxed, and not here just to get something done? _

Forcing himself to get out of bed, he grabbed his phone from the bedside table, checking the time - it was only 6:00 A.M. He was fine. He didn’t need to be at work until at least 8:00, and that was only if he wanted to put the extra effort in for his overinvested boss, Gideon.

Gideon… somehow that felt strange, too. Elliot took a deep breath, wiping his palm down his face to clear his thoughts. God, he was really off today.

**“Hey, you want some toast?” ** called Darlene from the kitchen, her back to him as she grabbed two slices of her own. He had the curious thought of asking when he’d bought bread, but the thought was dismissed; of course he had bread. He was a normal, working adult that went to the grocery store just like everyone else.

**“Sure,” ** he made his way to the small closet, opening the door to find a little room full of white uniform jackets and various old t-shirts he wore on his days off. Grabbing the closest jacket, he slipped it on, taking the time to button it up almost to the top, pushing his sleeves just above his elbows - Gideon was just lucky he even put the damn things on, with how hot and uncomfortable they were once he started working. His old, familiar black hoodie went on overtop, zipped up and ready to hide his workplace identity from the world. Elliot wandered into the kitchen then, offering a quiet greeting to Darlene as he pulled his own slices of toast from the cheap little toaster and wrapped them loosely in a paper towel.

**“What, gotta leave so soon?” ** his sister dropped onto the couch unceremoniously, the cushions practically jumping at the sudden shift in weight. She looked good, better than she’d seemed the last time Elliot had seen her. He was just glad she’d asked to stay over - her breakup with Francis was just one in a long string of separations, but each time still affected her just as much as the first. Even if she’d been the perpetrator. Nonetheless, it was good for her to be here rather than wherever else she got off to, and it was good for him to have the company.

**“Yeah. New system at work.”**

**“You’re not even gonna butter your toast first?” ** questioned Darlene incredulously, her mock disapproval clear on her face,  **“sometimes I think you’re adopted, Elliot.”**

**“Me too,” ** he answered with a hint of a smile, nodding his head as he grabbed his keys, wallet, phone, toast - the essentials.

**“Oh - Elliot,” ** her voice stopped him at the door,  **“dad texted a bit ago. He said he wants you to go by the shop and help him with something after work. Shit if I know what he wants.”**

**“Alright.”**

The trip to work was an uneventful one. It was drowned out by the sounds of strangers chatting and the subway’s various creaks and cracks as it propelled forward beneath the city, the music droning out from the man’s boombox behind him, the odd sensation that filled up his body and made him wonder, again, why he had felt so strange last night. What had he been concerned about? He couldn’t remember anything concrete, just the feeling of something being… off.

_ Just a bad dream. It happens often. _

He pushed the thoughts away, the curious scratching at his mind about what in the hell he’d been so damn concerned about, and took a breath as the subway came stuttering to a halt. He had plenty of other things to worry about. Offering a glance to the man with the boombox, Elliot stood, exiting the train and pulling his hoodie over his head. Up to the streets and on to work he went, passing through the morning crowds and continuing on until he came to his destination - Red Wheelbarrow BBQ.

It wasn’t gourmet food, that was certain, but he’d needed a job desperately and Angela had managed to get him one. He could’ve went back to the store and worked with his dad, but it felt like regressing; he didn’t want to have to rely on him again. So he started at the Red Wheelbarrow - his first few weeks he’d spent scrubbing away in the dish pit, hating the grime but not the mind-numbing monotony. It was good for him, he figured. Soon enough he was promoted to prep cook, and the new kind of grime that came with it - he was making the messes rather than washing them from every dish, but despite being slow, Elliot kept the cleanest stations. Eventually his mind wandered again, and on slow shifts he picked up the ways of the register from Angela, though didn’t dare make the move from prep to cashier. He overheard enough conversations with customers, and he really didn’t need to subject himself to their minds’ limitations.

Elliot entered through the back door, and was immediately greeted by the smell of something burning on the line. Electing to ignore that for the moment, he slipped into the dry storage room, where all the employee lockers were also kept. His was kept shut with a lock, but his wasn’t the only one - newcomers learned quickly not to leave anything important in an unprotected locker. After setting his wallet and keys inside, he reached up to the bins sitting atop the lockers, grabbing a red apron to (unfortunately) replace his hoodie. The hat came next, placed atop his head with a heavy sigh and no small amount of hesitation. He would never stop hating a uniform.

Someone came around the corner, and a familiar blonde head (obscured as it was by the dumbass hat) peered into the dry storage.

**“Oh great, you’re here. Gideon wants to talk to all of us up front,” ** Angela didn’t wait for a response, knowing Elliot would follow behind her - and he did. All the employees on shift stood around the prep table up front, each just as miserable inside as the next, while Gideon stood to the side and went on about some new menu item. Another man stood beside him, one he didn’t recognize. Gideon glanced over as Angela approached, Elliot in tow, nodding his head to the latter before clearing his throat. He was nervous, Elliot could tell.

**“So, we’ve finally got our new system in - you guys can see the new tablets there,” ** Gideon fiddled with his hands as he spoke,  **“it’ll be a bit of a hassle today while we’re getting used to it, but in the long run this is supposed to make all our lives a lot easier. Now, we have Adam here with us today to help get everyone up to speed using the new interface, you can direct any questions about the D.A. system to him.”**

The man beside Gideon - Adam - offered a smile to the onlooking employees, but somehow Elliot could still feel that same misery radiating off of him, the one that came with too many years in a business. Gideon continued,

**“On top of that, we’re getting a special visit today from our owners, so everyone be on your best.” ** With a final intake of breath and a glance around the room, Gideon finished with,  **“alright, good luck everyone,” ** and took off to head back to the line.

Gideon had brought the Red Wheelbarrow to New York only a handful of years ago, picking everything up and heading up the coast from his family’s closed restaurant of the same name. It had been a passion project for Gideon, but as the story went (he’d only heard it a thousand times), he’d underestimated the cost of living in the city and eventually the restaurant was bought out. They new owners had at least kept Gideon on as the head chef and kitchen manager, but the decrease in produce quality had been obvious from the week the deal went through. The new owners didn’t care about quality or service, they barely cared about the restaurant at all - and that scratched at Elliot’s mind, made him wonder why in the world they’d bought a restaurant when they didn’t give a shit about food service, but that wasn’t something he needed to focus on right now.

Right now, they were opening their doors to the public and dooming themselves to a day filled with technical difficulties and human error. Elliot needed to get to work on prep before some poor new cashier made him take over the register. He lowered his head as he went into the back, checking the dry-erase list pinned beside the walk-in freezer. He was pulled into familiar monotony, the first few hours of his shift passing without his notice as he went about completing his tasks and checking off different items on the list. It was maybe around noon when the back door opened again, drawing Elliot’s attention away from the portobello mushrooms he was slicing and to the crowd that stepped through.

They had to be the mysterious owners, with the way they dressed. Every one of them in a suit more expensive than the last, polished watches on their wrists, shoes shined until you could see your own reflection, hair slicked back with so much gel he wasn’t sure it could ever be washed out. They belonged to a unique breed, a confident kind, a human condition so unlike his own. He wondered if any of them had ever pondered whether or not to put their valuables in an unprotected locker, or if they’d ever had the unique pleasure of dealing with a locker at all. Probably not.

Out of the three, one man in particular caught his eye, and if not because of the unnerving sense of confidence radiating from him, then it was because of the strange sense of familiarity he felt. He was tall, a bit more so than the other two, and had to be around Elliot’s age as opposed to the others that looked closer to his father’s. Something seemed to bother him, perhaps he had that same odd sensation that’d struck Elliot, and a pale blue gaze turned his way. It lingered only for a moment as the three men passed his station, heading onward to the office to meet with Gideon, but it did nothing to help the growing ball of anxiety in his stomach.

There it was, that same feeling he’d had last night, but with less explanations and even more questions.

Elliot stood still for a few moments after the office door closed, looking down at the portobello mushrooms without really seeing them.

_ I know him, somehow. I can’t think of a name. How would I know him? _

He could hear the cashiers up front -

**“We actually have a new system, for this one you just enter your email at the end for your rewar-”**

**“What about my points? Do I still get my points?”**

**“If you had points on the old system, my manager can look up your number and ch-”**

**“So do I still get my points on this order? I don’t like giving out my email.”**

  * the cooks on the line -

**“Dude, I was so messed up last night I swear I thought there were ghosts in my house, you don’t even understand.”**

**“So are you still coming over after work to stream, man?”**

but couldn’t hear whatever they were discussing behind the office door. He grabbed the knife again, forcing himself to get back to the task at hand. It didn’t matter anyway, it was Gideon’s business and he’d really rather not deal with shady businessmen if he could avoid it.

He wasn’t given much of a choice, however, because within half an hour the immaculate three were exiting the little office, their faces devoid of anything Elliot could decipher. Had it went well? Did Gideon get all he wanted from their visit? He finished coating the mushrooms in oil and seasoning as the men passed, but one strayed from the path, staying behind at the station while his companions continued to the exit.

Elliot could only blink across the station at the taller, who offered a carefully-constructed smile and extended a hand for him to shake. Although he hesitated for a moment, debating whether or not he really wanted to touch the guy’s hand, he settled on shaking it with a nod of acknowledgement.

**“Tyrell Wellick. Now that Mr. Price has decided to turn this place into a chain, I’ll be your new location manager.”**

He seemed expectant, as if awaiting words of congratulations, or something else Elliot didn’t understand. The mention of the Red Wheelbarrow becoming a chain, however, that was news to him - and likely news to Gideon as well. Offering a half-hearted shrug, he replied,  **“Elliot. Just prep.”**

**“You know, I used to be a prep cook -” ** Tyrell glanced down to the pan of sliced and seasoned mushrooms almost fondly,  **“I was for quite a while, actually, until Mr. Colby moved me into management.”**

**“...Okay.”**

Tyrell blinked, staring at the other man for a few long moments before nodding again. There was a glint in his blue gaze, and Elliot wondered if he was just as confused about the situation as he was.

_ Why is he so familiar? _

Before he could ask, their new manager was turning to leave, offering another, more genuine smile as he did.

**“It’s been very nice meeting you. I look forward to working with you all,” ** there was a small pause, almost unnoticeable, as if awaiting a response from the prep cook that never came.

**“Bonsoir, Elliot.”**


End file.
